


Within You, My Home

by MeikoAtsushi



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alcohol, Anxiety, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Everyone is Gay and lives in the same apartment, F/F, Fluff and Angst, Friendship, Hanamaki's ex is a bastard, Happy Ending, Homophobia, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Oikawa is a single father, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Roommates, Slow Burn, Strangers to Lovers, implicit sex, non-con, past abusive relationship
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-07
Updated: 2019-01-10
Packaged: 2019-06-06 20:46:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,730
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15203138
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MeikoAtsushi/pseuds/MeikoAtsushi
Summary: Matsukawa Issei was eating a cinnamon roll when he met an angel.Or: Hanamaki Takahiro is the newest member of the Nekoma Apartment, and Matsukawa falls in love. Hanamaki is beautiful, the most perfect thing Matsukawa's ever stumbled upon - but past the mask, there's black and blue.Together, Takahiro can heal.(Ft. A single father Oikawa helplessly in love, a not-so-pure Sugawara, and Kuroo trying to ignore that stupid tap dance in his heart when he sees a certain waiter.)





	1. I met an Angel

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, that's right. I began another story, that's right. 
> 
> The main pairing of this fic is MatsuHana, but other pairings are existent as well. This story WILL contain heavy material and lots of emotional ups and downs, so if you're not into that then you're in the wrong place. Other than that, I hope you enjoy this ride.

Matsukawa Issei was eating a cinnamon roll when he met an angel.

 

 _Well,_ accurately phrased, he was literally gobbling down the gooey center of the roll when a person that very much _resembled_ an angel passed by. Beforehand, Matsukawa’s definition of an angel was based on religious portraits of naked people with halos, or his out-of-this-world best friend. Now, that has revolutionized to become a ‘pink-haired man wearing a sky blue Lacoste polo shirt and long white pants’.

 

“Matsukawa-san, I’d prefer if you keep the table clean of crumbs. You’re inflating my workload.” The blond waiter warned, as he set down a mug of latte in front of the customer.

 

Sipping the coffee, Matsukawa locked his gaze on the man. “Tsukki, what should I do if I want to date an angel?”

 

“Please go outside and kill yourself.”

 

“What a wise man you are.”

 

“Thank you, I wish you a safe journey to heaven too.” Tsukishima shifted his attention to the empty cashier, and briskly marched over to receive a new order. Matsukawa watched his heavenly stranger pass by, gradually disappearing from his field of vision. In the end, he was fully gone from sight; the cinnamon roll flopped over on the table.

 

Bells chimed from the left, and an animated yelp burst through the entrance of the café. “Tsukki, the usual!” Said part-timer punched in a few buttons, and went to brew the coffee.

 

A chair was dragged backward next to Issei, as the newcomer sat down with a ‘plop’. “Mattsun, missed me?”

 

“Ah,” ‘Mattsun’ turned to face the other. His best friend screamed ‘hot’ from head to toe, from his perfectly styled hair to his Italian brand shoes, from his Gucci sunglasses to glossy dress pants. “I think it’s about time I die, Oikawa.”

 

Oikawa “Mucho Sexy” Tooru tilted his head to a seductive 20 degrees angle. “Is that your indirect way of announcing that you’re diagnosed with cancer?”

 

“No, I met an angel.”

 

“Well, you have one next to you right now.”

 

“No, like an _actual one._ ”

 

“That is super offensive, I demand for an apology.” Oikawa huffed, as he straightened his back and adjusted his tie. “I thought I was going to die – I was attacked by a herd of thirsty moms.”

 

Matsukawa chuckled, his mind finally distracted. “You don’t have a wife, after all. An ideal target, I dare say.”

 

“You _know_ I only need Akira right now. And even if I do want someone involved with me romantically, that’d be Iwa-chan. Do you think he’s not into guys or something? Or maybe he was weirded out that I was staring at his arms for like twenty seconds three weeks ago? _Oh my god,_ Mattsun, am I _ugly_?”

 

“Yes.” Tsukishima replied without missing a beat, as he practically slammed the vanilla lime milkshake special on their table. “Now if you two are done dawdling, please get out of here. You’re ruining the business, and you don’t want to see Akaashi-san get mad.”

 

“Tsukki, you can’t just kick us out! Treat your regulars with care!” Oikawa wailed, but that simply earned a venomous glare from the college student. Finally, the two friends surrendered, and departed the café, accompanied with Tsukishima’s sarcastic ‘have a nice day’.

 

Sucking at his straw, Oikawa re-blazed the conversation, as they waited for the red light to change. “I heard there was someone new moving in on the second floor with Iwa-chan.”

 

“Are you a stalker?” Matsukawa snorted, “Yeah, Suga told me about it. I don’t really remember, but his name sounded something like a type of sushi.”

 

“It’s Hanamaki Takahiro, that’s not even remotely passable.” The light blinked, and they moved forward. “Do you think he’ll help me get closer to Iwaizumi?”

 

“That poor guy, I pity him already.” Shaking his head, Matsukawa faked a concerned expression, knitting his thick brows together. “Don’t you think it’s easier to have Kuroo assist you in drugging him?”

 

“I have a kid now, Mattsun, I have morals to uphold.” Oikawa played along, as they reached their apartment. There was a truck parked in front of it, with workers in uniforms unloading the boxes. They easily slipped past the mess, and boarded the elevator. “Speaking of Akira, thanks for agreeing to pick him up. You really saved me.” He pressed the buttons for the third and fifth floor.

 

Matsukawa leaned against the metal wall. “No big deal, I keep telling you. My shift at the gym isn’t until 5 today, so I’m free. I’d feel sorry for Akira if he has to wait for three hours at daycare.”

 

“Still, you know how Akira is with unfamiliar people. I’d ask someone else, but his little world consists of you, me, and a few other residents living here.” An automated sound dinged as the elevator came to a stop. “I’m counting on you, Mattsun!” Oikawa stepped off, and Matsukawa waved back.

 

His mind trailed off to the angel he met at the street, and what to eat for dinner.

 

* * *

 

“That’s about everything, right?”

 

“Yeah, seriously, thanks a lot, Iwaizumi.”

 

“Nah, it’s a win-win. You have somewhere to live; I save more money by splitting the rent. I had no reason to refuse.” Patting the stack of cardboard boxes, Iwaizumi smirked. “We can sort out the boxes later. I’ll show you around the apartment – I think Suga wanted to meet you.” Iwaizumi jutted his chin at the doorway as he unrolled his sleeves. Hanamaki nodded, although his eyes traveled back to those _arms_. Surely, arms like that had to be illegal. Especially those arms paired with a white button-down. Life was plainly unfair, Hanamaki thought.

 

“There’s only one person that lives on the first floor, and that’s Nekomata-sensei. He owns the apartment, and loves cats. If you casually show him a cat photo, then that’s the secret pathway to his heart, and _bam_ he now loves you and gives you free dessert.” Iwaizumi led them to the emergency staircase, as they walked upstairs. “Right, and the guy that lives next door to us at 202 is Bokuto. He’s a little overwhelming, but a cool guy.”

 

“Overwhelming, cool. I can get used to that.” Hanamaki smiled – he had confidence in his social skills, and he was usually quick to make new friends. “Who’s on the third?”

 

Iwaizumi crinkled his nose for a millisecond, and then grumbled, “A really irritating single father, but his kid is likable. He grows on you.” They continued upward, as the other man went on, “There used to be a couple living in 302 – they still do, but they’re rarely ever here. They left their spare key behind though, so we use their supplies during emergencies.”

 

“Isn’t that, I don’t know,” Hanamaki felt his chest burn as he tried to keep pace with Iwaizumi up the stairs. “Really rude, or something?”

 

Mr. Jesus Arms laughed a little. “It’s fine, Nishinoya’s cool with it. Asahi gets worried that we’ll break something, but we’re usually okay. The only thing we’re not allowed to do is have sex in there, but that’s just because Asahi thinks it’s unhygienic to do it on a dusty bed.” They stopped at the fourth floor, and Hanamaki took a moment to catch his breath. He really didn’t enjoy stairs – why didn’t they use the elevator, anyway?

 

Iwaizumi proceeded to the ring the doorbell, and a cheery, feathery pitch sang back. The door opened, and Hanamaki could feel the atmosphere _glow_ with purity, as his eyes landed on the inhabitant of the house.

 

“Good afternoon, I’m Sugawara Koushi! Please call me Suga.” His hair was curled and the silver locks were tangled, but even that disheveled appearance somehow created an exquisite balance with his smooth skin, hazel orbs, and thin lips. And his smile – that was a downright _sinfully beautiful_ smile – could charm every human, possibly deities.

 

“Sugar?” Hanamaki squawked, wishing he had brought sunglasses. “You’re really jamming that name down to perfection.”

 

Suga giggled, and _man_ it was unreal. Hanamaki felt like a street rat in comparison. “It’s Suga, but thanks. Nice to meet you too, Hanamaki-san.”

 

“Please, just Hanamaki works.” He jabbed his elbow at Iwaizumi that was shaking in suppressed laughter next to him.

 

“Suga? Is someone there?” Another deeper tone echoed from inside the house, and Sugawara gestured at them to enter. Hanamaki’s flat gaze laid on the freshly showered male, who blinked back, his torso naked as he only sported his Calvin Klein boxers. _Holy shit, those thighs,_ Hanamaki mused, as the new man’s face reddened. “ _Suga,_ you should’ve told me if it was a guest! I assumed it’d be Iwaizumi or Kuroo- _Jesus Christ,_ I’ll just go wear a shirt real quick –“

 

“Don’t forget your pants too, Dai!” Suga shouted back, and a muffled ‘shut up’ came from the bedroom. Hanamaki glanced at Iwaizumi to silently ask ‘does-this-happen-all-the-time’, and his roommate gave him a solid ‘yes’.

 

Sugawara told them to take a seat on the couch, as he prepared some drinks. Mr. Surreal Thighs came rushing back, his black T-shirt damp from the remaining water droplets from the shower, and his Addidas sweatpants a little too tight for him. Hanamaki mentally slapped himself in discipline, as he imagined what his ass would look like. _Pure thoughts, pure thoughts._

 

“I’m _so_ sorry you had to see that,” _Not at all,_ Hanamaki internally answered, “My name is Sawamura Daichi, Suga’s roommate.”

 

“Boyfriend,” Iwaizumi corrected, and realization dawned upon the pink-haired guest. “They’re shiny and very gay.”

 

“In my defense, _everyone_ that lives in this apartment is gay in one way or another, except Nekomata-san, and possibly Akira.” Daichi retorted, a blush crawling back onto his tanned skin. “My apologies – this isn’t a appropriate conversation to share when you just moved here.”

 

Hanamaki chortled, “It’s fine, I fall under the same category anyway. You two are cute together.”

 

“I could figure as much when you casually labeled me as ‘Sugar’,” Sugawara devilishly grinned, and that’s when Hanamaki was quick to comprehend that his host wasn’t as angelic as he appeared. “But really, welcome. It’s been a while since someone new arrived, so we were all pretty hyped. Kuroo’s probably going to throw a party once he knows you’re here.”

 

“Kuroo throws a party for the most trivial occasions, like accomplishing to blow his nose.” Iwaizumi “Eat My Arms” Hajime added, and Hanamaki felt like the only average human being sitting in the living room.

 

Daichi nodded in solemn agreement. “We have a lot of idiots in proportion to sane people in this apartment. But everyone means well, so I hope you understand.”

 

“By the way, did you hear about who lives on what floor? It’s handy information, although you’ll know everyone soon enough.” Sugawara asked, and Hanamaki rubbed the back of his neck.

 

“Iwaizumi told me about the first three floors, if that means anything.”

 

The two-faced man gasped dramatically, and shot Hajime a patronizing look. “ _Iwaizumi,_ you left out _all_ the crucial details! The fifth floor is the most critical part of the tour, how did you not tell him about it first?”

 

“We ran out of time.”

 

“You disappoint me.” Suga sighed, cupping his cheek remorsefully. “Well, I’ll just go on. Our neighbors are named Kiyoko and Yachi, at 401. If you want a scrumptious meal after an overworked day, that’s the place you go to. They’re wonderful girls. Now, on the _fifth floor,_ ” Wriggling his eyebrows suggestively, Suga licked his lips. “That’s where _aaallll_ the fantastic stuff happens.”

 

Daichi grunted in disapproval. “You mean R-18.”

 

“In 501, there’s a guy named Matsukawa Issei that lives alone. He might seem a little intimidating, but that’s just his default expression – don’t let him scare you. And lastly, and most importantly of course, there’s Kuroo Tetsurou.” Suga paused for the histrionic effect.

 

“He’s really just a dumbfuck –“ Iwaizumi frowned, but Sugawara was faster.

 

“He’s a party animal, loves to drink and loves to sleep around – but the best part is that Kuroo’s usually awake until like 4 in the morning, and if you pay him 500 yen you can go have sex in his room the entire night.”

 

Hanamaki wasn’t sure how to feel about that. “And where does he go?”

 

“Oh, he really doesn’t go anywhere. We usually just fuck in our own houses, of course, but there was this one time when –“

 

“I think we should talk about something more PG.” Daichi interjected, clapping his hands together. “You’ll get to know all that later, one by one. For the mean time, we’ll go down and help you unpack. How does that sound?”

 

Hanamaki was able to infer that Sawamura was probably one of the only ‘sane’ beings in this apartment.

 

“Sure, that sounds amazing.”

 

* * *

 

Matsukawa woke up at 1, and stifled a yawn. It was soon time for him to pick up Akira from daycare, and then he’d run his shift at the gym for about three hours until 8, and come back home and sleep again.

 

 _Wait, scratch that plan,_ he dragged himself to the bathroom, and brushed his teeth. _Kuroo’s going to definitely throw a party once he knows Hana… whatever is here._ Matsukawa had always been terrible at memorizing names. It wasn’t that his memorization was hopeless; it was just that he had the tendency to ignore everyone that wasn’t somewhat associated with his circle of acquaintances.

 

Pulling on the same attire as he had in the morning at the café, he grabbed his keys and exited. The truck was gone, and the boxes at the lobby were taken care of. The fact that the person was _Iwaizumi’s_ friend of all people intrigued Matsukawa. Iwaizumi wasn’t particularly antisocial, but he had always been opposed to having a roommate. He couldn’t “trust” people with his belongings, he muttered like a mantra – so Issei wanted to know who was capable of bending that adamant man.

 

He took the usual path to the daycare, and saw the flowery establishment when he turned the corner.

 

A somewhat timid, freckled male bowed as he went in. “I’m here for Oikawa Akira.” The nametag on his yellow apron read ‘Yamaguchi’.

 

“Akira-kun, is that right? I’ll fetch him in a second.” Yamaguchi jogged away, and Matsukawa awkwardly waited near the shoe rack. Around twenty seconds later, a short three-year-old approached him, his plump legs moving back and forth. Matsukawa’s lips curved, helpless. The little boy spotted him and his usually impassive eyes lightened, his legs moving a little faster than before.

 

“Isse,” The toddler spoke, not able to fully pronounce the name. Issei chuckled, and lifted Akira into his arms.

 

“Hey there, big man. How was your day?”

 

“Okay.” Akira replied with minimal vigor, but his glassy orbs perked. “I played hero with Yutaro. It was okay.”

 

Matsukawa snuggled his nose on Akira’s small shoulder, and the boy squirmed, though not in discomfort. Yamaguchi smiled politely and bid them farewell, as Matsukawa left the daycare. He exchanged playful comments with Akira in his embrace as they returned to the apartment, with Matsukawa pressing the button for the fourth floor.

 

When he reached their destination, he put Akira back down, and knocked.

 

“Matsukawa,” Shimizu Kiyoko welcomed, and then her glossy lips tugged north upon seeing Akira. “Akira-kun, hello.” The boy blushed at the female’s greeting. “I’m sorry I wasn’t able to pick him up. Hitoka gets really anxious during this time, right before her deadline.”

 

“Don’t fret over it, it doesn’t matter.” Giving a light push on Akira’s back, Matsukawa guided the boy inside, telling him offhandedly to remove his shoes. “Also, do you happen to know if there’s something going on at Kuroo’s tonight?”

 

Shimizu almost rolled her eyes – but she didn’t. “Most likely. You know how he is. I won’t be able to attend today because of Hitoka, but if Oikawa wants to go then tell him that we can take care of Akira-kun here.”

 

“You’re the absolute best, Shimizu.” Matsukawa grinned, “He’s going to love it.”

 

“No problem. Take care, Matsukawa.” Every single element of her flawless, Shimizu closed the door after he said goodbye to Oikawa’s child. He still had a few hours till his shift – maybe he could go back home and nap some more –

 

“Oh, Matsukawa!”

 

Or maybe not.

 

Sugawara and Sawamura were standing in front of the elevator, Daichi unlocking the door. “We just finished helping Hanamaki settle in.” Suga offered him to come in, and Matsukawa did. “You should’ve seen his face when he saw Dai naked, it was just –“

 

“Suga, we’re not telling him about that.”

 

“No, I’m very interested now. Please go on.”

 

Sugawara sniggered, as he propped himself on the couch, cross-legged. “By the way, good news Issei, the new guy is gay and single. When was the last time you slept with a guy again?”

 

“11 months ago, but that was _accidental._ Kuroo and I just got a little excited.” He admitted ruefully – Kuroo had a habit of sleeping with anyone and everyone when he was drunk, and 24-year-old Matsukawa thought that’d be fun. It wasn’t, especially the hangover the following morning and the subsequent moment of the flashback of their whimsical one-night- stand. He and Kuroo never discussed that night again. “Suga, you’re well aware that I’m not into ‘dating for entertainment’ kind of flings.”

 

“I just thought I’d quench your thirst.” He leaned back on the leather couch, “But he does seem like a friendly person. That Iwaizumi is trusting him after all – he’s definitely something.”

 

Daichi took his usual position besides Suga as well, joining the conversation. “He seems sensible enough, for sure. But, well…” His mouth pensively twisting sour, the raven seemed hesitant to finish. “I don’t think he’s very comfortable with getting too physical.”

 

“Oh yeah, I got that impression too.” His boyfriend conceded, as he tore a bag of chips. “It didn’t seem like anything too serious, but he kind of stiffened when I put my arm around his shoulder. But you know, that’s not uncommon.”

 

Daichi strained a reassured smile, and abandoned the topic. Matsukawa wasn’t sure what to say, as he had never met the guy, and therefore kept his mouth shut.

 

_I’ll figure it out eventually._

* * *

 

 

“Kuroo’s hosting a party after all, and he’s specifically stressed that you have to be there, since this is for you.”

 

Iwaizumi updated him after they ate dinner. “What a feisty guy. I want to meet him now.” Hanamaki stretched his arms, as he put down the book he was reading on his bed. His friend slipped to his room to change into a more comfortable shirt, and they soon went up to the fifth floor.

 

“Just a warning: don’t get drunk with Kuroo. He’ll try to sleep with you. Matsukawa had it happen once- well, there was Bokuto too, but those two had been friends with benefits before they even lived here. They have history.”

 

 _Friends with benefits that have history?_ Hanamaki had personally never heard something of that level before, but he let it pass.

 

Kuroo’s house was at the very end of the corridor, but the ruckus inside was completely audible for the whole district. Loud American pop songs, rowdy speeches, and a horrendous screech resounded simultaneously, and Hanamaki felt like he was back in university. Iwaizumi didn’t bother to knock as he simply kicked the door open, the brass knob rattling at the force. The cacophonous noise burst throughout at the same time, and Hanamaki rushed to lock the door behind him.

 

“KUROO STOP THROWING THAT BOTTLE OF LUBE AROUND –“

 

“I’M THE OWNER OF THIS PLACE –“

 

“Guys, can you keep the volume down- _Bokuto,_ you’re using that fork upside down.”

 

“Oh. Whoops.”

 

Hanamaki gawked at the sight – for one thing, what kind of living room had a _disco ball_ and a karaoke set?

 

A tall guy with the most ridiculous hair Hanamaki had ever seen snapped his head in his direction. The craziest part of him was that he was still unbelievably attractive _while_ retaining that hairstyle. His lopsided grin was outstretched to his ears, and his eyes were slightly slanted to form a rather mysterious aura.

 

“So _you’re_ Sir Bubblegum that Suga has been chatting away about.”

 

Hanamaki failed to conceal his scowl. “Excuse me?”

 

Kuroo barked a laugh at his reaction, and flung backward to shout, “Suga, this guy is _precious!”_ And then he returned to face Takahiro. “Kuroo Tetsurou – call me whatever you want.” He extended his hand and patted Hanamaki’s arm, in which Hanamaki flinched involuntarily.

 

 _Shit._ Hanamaki deadpanned, _I did not mean to do that._ But Kuroo didn’t seem to notice, as he merely skipped back into the haphazard mess of people. “Guys, shut the fuck up for a second!”

 

A strangled somebody countered, “You shut up!”

 

“Our main protagonist for the night has marched here,” Kuroo ignored swiftly, “So say hi, whatever. Someone get him a beer!”

 

Everyone’s divided attention focused on him, as Takahiro tensed. As he scrutinized every single person’s face in the room, he couldn’t help but ponder if there was anyone that wasn’t physically alluring in this apartment.

 

The one that seemed to be sculpted into a paragon masterpiece lunged forward. “Oikawa Tooru.” He whispered, his eyes boring into Hanamaki’s. He had that sly complexion – the ‘I know everything you don’t’ one – as he merrily said, “Nice to meet you, Makki!”

 

“Makki,” Hanamaki reiterated, “Okay. Sure.” He had been fairly composed prior to this… _everything,_ but now he wasn’t so certain. This bunch was rather wild. First it was Sir Bubblegum, now it was Makki. He couldn’t predict what was about to attack him next.

 

Crouching down in the corner, Hanamaki poured himself a glass of Fanta. Sugawara and Oikawa were too occupied screaming their heads away to ‘Shake it Off’ on the karaoke, and Sawamura was scrolling down his phone as if there wasn’t an alcoholic breakdown occurring around him. A muscular individual drinking with Kuroo on the dining table – one Hanamaki recognized as Bokuto – was whining about something, but his words were slurred.

 

 _I’m so lost._ He drawled, in this foreign space. The men all bonded seamlessly together, even Iwaizumi, just about the only person Hanamaki actually knew, was carrying on a rather heated exchange with Oikawa, who had tossed the microphone to Kuroo, who was singing ‘Womanizer’ off key.

 

He felt extraneous to the situation.

 

_(“Hiro, you just need to stay with me, and you’re –“)_

“What the fuck.”

 

His private time shattered with a fanciful sentence. Hanamaki peered up, squinting due to the rays of colored light reflecting off the disco ball on the ceiling. There stood another taller-than-average-Asian man, with the thickest eyebrows ever. His hoodie was rainbow, and he was wearing torn jeans, a can of beer in his grasp.

 

Hanamaki stared back, and started, “Hey.”

 

“Are you…” Bushy Eyebrows breathlessly said, “Are you like, _real?_ ”

 

Okay. Okay, so first it’s Sir Bubblegum, then it’s Makki, and now this person was questioning his physical existence.

 

“No, I’m an angel.” He sniffed, as the other guy’s eyes widened.

 

“I knew it, holy fuck.”

 

This person sounded so sincere, that Hanamaki was reversely concerned. Alcohol did formulate hallucinations, after all. “I’m joking, dude. I’m biologically human.”

 

“What?” Bushy Eyebrows blinked rapidly, and then found his voice. “Oh. Right. Okay… okay. Sorry, that was just…” He dryly averted his gaze, and Hanamaki wanted to snort. “I’m Matsukawa Issei. I didn’t mean to… you know.”

 

 _Matsukawa Issei._ Hanamaki let that introduction wash over him. “That guy that slept with Kuroo?”

 

Matsukawa’s jaw dropped, and then snapped back. “Who told you that?”

 

“Iwaizumi.”

 

“That piece of shit.” Matsukawa uttered through gritted teeth, as he dropped to floor. “That was, you know, an accident.” The tips of his ears were flushing a furious color, and Hanamaki thought it was kind of cute.

 

“Sure, you can tell yourself that.”

 

Matsukawa flashed a smile. “You better shut up, Hanamaki.”

 

They fell into an easy rhythm. The pink-haired man quickly learned that Matsukawa was a volleyball coach for the children’s team of the sports center nearby, and that they were both the same age, 25. For the whole hour they debated over the fact whether white chocolate was real chocolate, and if Coca Cola or Pepsi was better. A few others joined in the argument, with Bokuto fervently asserting the point that Sprite was still the ultimate fizzy drink.

 

But the night soon came to a close when Kuroo began to rampage around the house, with Suga throwing up the tacos he downed for dinner.

 

Matsukawa thumped Hanamaki on the back, and Hanamaki managed to hold down the instinctive flinch this time around.

 

“See you, Hanamaki.”

 

“Sure thing.”

 

Perhaps, if Takahiro knew ahead of time just how precious this group would be for him in the future, he would’ve displayed more gratitude that night.

 

But he didn’t.

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hanamaki warms up to everyone, Mattsun falls deep, and Hanamaki is just confused about his feelings.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the support, guys! I'll try to update when I have the time, which is random, but I'll try. I hope you enjoy this rather anticlimactic chapter.

“Matsukawa, did you realize how _smitten_ you looked?”

 

“I _am_ smitten, please get your facts in check.”

 

Kuroo snorted on his orange juice, as they sat on the floor and ate breakfast at Matsukawa’s. “First it’s Oikawa, then you. I think I finally see why you guys are best friends.”

 

“I didn’t _stalk_ Hanamaki unlike Oikawa; it’s clearly different.”

 

“You asked him if he was _real,_ and for me, that practically means the same thing.”

 

Matsukawa rolled his eyes as he mashed his already mashed potatoes with his spoon. Eating breakfast with Kuroo on weekends was their routine of sorts, ever since that accidental night with Kuroo suffering from the worst hangover. Matsukawa was stuck with the job of nursing him through the day, and the other fell in love with his cooking, and here they were now.

 

Waving a single chopstick around in the air, Kuroo said, “I guess he’s cute. Awkward, but cute. Of course, it’s not anything like Iwaizumi’s arms or Sawamura’s thighs, or Suga’s… Suga’s _holistic_ existence – he’s pretty average, actually.” Matsukawa hummed, though far from conceding. “Which is rare here, you know? Nobody’s average in this apartment.”

 

“You don’t know him enough to proclaim so.” Grabbing a tissue from the box, Matsukawa wiped his mouth. “Maybe he’s the heir to a yakuza organization.”

 

“The heir to a yakuza organization living in this pipsqueak –“

 

“Nekomata-sensei is going to murder you if overhears that.”

 

“Whatever, my bet’s on that he’s the most normal guy here.” Kuroo slurped at his noodles, and Matsukawa made a face. “Not that I care, since he’s not my type. He’s all yours, Mattsun.”

 

“Thanks,” His monotone answer mumbled, Matsukawa stood up and cleansed the dishes.

 

Average. Perhaps, that was correct. Matsukawa had been for some reason, perpetually surrounded by atypical humans, such as Oikawa Tooru. He wasn’t exactly ordinary either – it was just that his circle of friends always stood out much more than he did. When he hung around the residents of Nekoma Apartment, the only outstanding element of his was possibly his thick-as-fuck eyebrows – but well, how many people were into eyebrows, compared to Oikawa’s silky appearance and Kuroo’s mischievous hotness?

 

Maybe that was the issue. He’d been glued between oddities for too long, that he was immune to them. After all those years, he lost the ability to get a boner from attractive gays.

 

“Nah,” Matsukawa shrugged the assumption away, “I don’t think he’s average.”

 

Kuroo merely leaned further into the cushions of the couch behind him, began texting someone else on his phone. He blinked at a particular message and started smiling like an idiot when Matsukawa returned with ice cream for dessert.

 

“Let me guess: Tsukishima.”

 

Kuroo snapped his phone shut. “I demand to live somewhere in which I’m not smothered by psychics in every corner.”

 

“You’re fairly psychic yourself – when it comes to others.”

 

His brows lifting in menial response, Kuroo tapped back at the keyboard of his phone. Matsukawa scooped a bit of the chocolate ice cream and stuffed it in his mouth, until Kuroo gasped, nearly hyperventilating.

 

Matsukawa pushed the bucket of ice cream towards him; “Here’s your daily glucose intake, excellent for calming the nerves.”

 

“ _MATTSUN,_ TSUKISHIMA JUST ASKED ME ON A DATE OH MY GOD –“

 

“First of all, you sound like Oikawa, which is beyond detestable so stop. Second, give me that damn phone.” Snatching away the device from his friend, Matsukawa scanned over the messages. “You do realize that all he said was ‘you still need to come back for your free coffee’, right?” He scrolled up a little more and crinkled his nose. “Holy fuck, Kuroo, you sent him a Candy Crush invite? What kind of dumbass are you?”

 

“’Free coffee’, date, it’s all identical in metaphorical meaning. And mind you, I was positively _drunk_ when I sent him that invite. I even apologized!”

 

“I’m not sure when free coffee was anything borderline metaphorical, and ‘I want to kiss you’ is not an apology.”

 

“The one _beneath that,_ I said ‘sorry, I was fucked up’!”

 

Matsukawa snorted and tossed the phone back to his floor mate. The fact that Kuroo was so sharp when it came to the romance of others but so clumsy for his own was all the reason why his friends all dubbed him as an idiot. An idiot, but a wholly likable one; they’d never tell him that, though. “So? When are you going back for your free coffee? It’s a day off.”

 

“Tsukki has his shift from 2, so I’ll drag Bokuto along with me. Not like he has anything better to do – and their manager is his type, like, I keep urging him to come with me but he’s just like ‘nah, I’m cool’. He doesn’t know what he’s missing out on.”

 

“Mm.” Matsukawa traced his vague memories of the images of the staff at the café. The manager had never left a strong impression on him; at best, he could recall his curled black locks and the emerald blue of his eyes. Oikawa seemed to have befriended him some time ago, but Oikawa befriended _everyone._ “Akaashi… was it?”

 

“Yes, Akaashi Keiji, an unveiled beauty.”

 

“What, he’s a Disney Princess? Mulan?”

 

Kuroo snickered with good humor. “He’d actually look cute in traditional clothes. All the more why I should bring Bokuto with me.”

 

“Grow some balls, Tetsu, or you’ll miss your opportunity. I don’t even understand why you have the hots for Tsukishima in the first place, but since you do, I support it. Make it work.” It was the truth, that Matsukawa and Kuroo were polar opposites. Matsukawa never indulged in alcohol, parties, or fuck-for-the-fuck. He preferred stable relationships, gradual affection, and peace. Kuroo trampling and tripping over his feet from one man after another woman had concerned him all along – but now there was Tsukishima, and it was serious. He hoped it went well for him.

 

“Yeah, thanks I guess.” Kuroo stretched his arms and then jumped up, standing. “I’m going to get some groceries. Good luck with your dear Sir Bubblegum, too.” Then Kuroo’s thin brow unconcealed by the cowlick of his hair narrowed, “You know, yesterday, he was kind of off. Not like I’d know how he is normally, but just a hunch. You should check on him.”

 

Matsukawa passed on a lopsided grin of his own, “You suggesting something?”

 

“Not at all.”

 

* * *

 

 

Hanamaki woke up and was confounded at the foreign ceiling. His mind raced in blue until it clicked that he wasn’t at that house anymore. This was Nekoma Apartment, and he was currently sharing a room with Iwaizumi. Right. Everything was okay.

 

 _Gotta get my shit together,_ he reprimanded internally, _I’m no longer there._

“Iwaizumi?” He exclaimed, but nobody answered. The living room and kitchen were empty, but there was a sticky note on top of the dining table.

 

_[Out for exercise. Come back at 2.]_

_So his Holy Arms don’t just sprout from nothing,_ Hanamaki mused and discarded the note. It was still 11 in the morning, and it was a Saturday – there were plenty of tasks that could be done. The stack of unwashed platters and pots in the sink caught his attention, and he went straight to work. It may have made him sound like a mom, but housework put him at ease. Scraping off dried up sauce on plates didn’t require much processing, and cleaning the floor was a repetitive action.

 

When he was certain the house was nearly glowing with sparkles, Hanamaki pulled off the rubber gloves he randomly grabbed from the drawers (Iwaizumi hadn’t even removed it from the plastic wrapper, and the receipt crumpled next to it read that it was purchased a year ago). There was still an hour and a half remaining till 2, and he had finished preparations for his new job at the prep school yesterday evening, before the welcome party.

 

“I’ll go eat lunch, I guess.” He said aloud, for no particular reason. After changing into a white T-shirt that had a Captain America sticker (Hanamaki preferred Iron Man) and jeans, he set out for the closest 7-11.

 

 _Instant noodles will do._ He recounted his favorite list of instant noodles and wondered what he ought to get, as the elevator opened.

 

“Oh, Hanamaki-san?”

 

Hanamaki squinted his eyes as Sugawara’s too-bright-too-sunshine beam attacked his vision. “Are you going out for lunch?” Daichi inquired kindly from the right, and Hanamaki blocked out Sugawara’s blinding beauty with his shoulder.

 

“Y-yeah, that’s the plan.”

 

“Yeah? Suga and I are going to a new curry place if you don’t have any previous appointments for the meal.”

 

Hanamaki couldn’t muster the courage to deal with Suga’s smile so early in the day. The sun was too dazzling on its own – he couldn’t possibly stare into two suns. “Uh, actually, well- no, I don’t have any… but you know, I don’t want to be interrupting your…” Whirling his finger in midair for an excuse, he finished, “Date.”

 

Suga giggled (it was a sinful giggle), “We have dates all the time, it wouldn’t be imposing if someone else joins once in a while. Where were you planning to go?”

 

With a very long moment of hesitation, Hanamaki murmured, “… Seven Eleven.”

 

“That is one really nutrient-rich meal you’re going for there,” Daichi laughed heartily, and Hanamaki returned a sheepish smile, as they all stepped out of the elevator. “Come on, it’s just a five-minute walk from here. We heard that their curry is good, and Matsukawa told us that so it should be. He’s a picky eater, you see.”

 

 _Matsukawa. Matsukawa Issei._ Hanamaki allowed his mind to drift off to last night. The man possessed a comfortable aura, approachable but still politely distant. “We chatted last night. He was a pretty cool guy.”

 

“Oh, yeah. Mattsun is pretty cool – the only person in this apartment you should trust with your darkest secrets.” Suga acceded, and then ducked towards Hanamaki and leered deviously. “Why? Is he your type?”

 

Well.

 

Matsukawa had a mature tint to him – the air surrounding him was controlled and consistent, and his expression was usually static, but that didn’t mean he was detached. His shoulders were fairly broad, or at least were a lot broader than Hanamaki’s, and he appeared to be pretty fit, although not as much as Iwaizumi or Sawamura. But that was perfect because Takahiro never dealt well with the ‘dreamy’ guys.

 

So in theory, he was his type.

 

In theory.

 

But the same anguish churned in his guts, as Hanamaki strained a reply. “I don’t know.”

 

Suga frowned, perhaps sensing the tension in the man’s voice. “You’re not dating anyone, are you?”

 

“Yeah, I’m single, like I said yesterday. I’m just… in a non-dating phase.”

 

A non-dating phase. More like a cannot-date-anyone phase. He couldn’t do it. He didn’t want to, as well. To fall in love again, to desperately cling to someone – it was terrifying. He couldn’t do it.

 

Suga must have gained personal insight into the issue, as he rapidly altered the focus of the conversation to something more trivial. They reached the curry restaurant, and Hanamaki just ordered whatever was first on the menu. He was able to learn that Suga and Daichi were both editors, and began dating as they worked in the same department. They were both assigned to modern Japanese literature.

 

“What’s your job, Makki?”

 

“Oh, I start as a general science teacher at a nearby prep school next week.”

 

“Wow, that sounds like a lot of academics involved.”

 

“I always enjoyed teaching. It’s a bliss to know that students are finally understanding their homework.”

 

Suga and Daichi both snickered, and Hanamaki eased into the ambiance. Sure, everyone at Nekoma Apartment was pretty intimidating at first glance, but they all sounded like pretty sensible people, in each their own way. It would take some time, but he could get accustomed to the hazard life here.

 

They paid for their meal, and Sawamura offered a trip to their regular café. It was already half past two, so Iwaizumi should’ve gotten home – but they were both adults, so he presumed there was no need to update him on his every move. He left a short text to inform Iwaizumi where he was and headed to the café.

 

“You know, I always speculated,” Hanamaki froze in front of the sign of the café, and furrowed his eyes. “Who thought it was amazing to name a café ‘Salty Coffee’?”

 

“Oh, that,” A feathery chortle escaped Suga’s plump lips as he explicated, “One of the waiters here came up with it when the owner-slash-manager was in a fix. They never had anything to beat it on the list, so that’s what it became.”

 

“Seriously? They must have awful naming sense,” Hanamaki muttered as they were fully in the café. Not that the name of it played much in Hanamaki’s liking for their beverages – Salty Coffee had the best everything in town when it came to caffeinated drinks and smoothies. They had excellent shortcakes too, _including_ fruitcakes, which were beyond impressive.

 

The blond waiter wearing angular specs greeted them monotonically, “Good afternoon, I’m the one with the awful naming sense. What would you like to order?”

 

 _Salty,_ was the first term that crossed his mind, as Hanamaki deadpanned. “Black, ice, large. You still have terrible naming sense, and I stand to that idea.”

 

“Sure. What’s your name?”

 

“Hanamaki.”

 

“That’s not a very creative name, either.”

 

“It’s a family name, this is out of my control.” He contended, one of his veins positively popping at the forehead. The out-of-this-world couple was laughing their asses off next to him, as they placed their usual orders.

 

“Is he always such a brat?” Complained Hanamaki, as they sat down on a table close to the glass walls.

 

“Unfortunately, yes. Kuroo’s heads over heels for the dude, if I might add.” Suga supplied helpfully, casting a mischievous glance in Tsukishima’s direction. “Not that Tsukki cares, you know. He has zero interest in Tetsu, our poor man.”

 

“Huh,” It was challenging to accept the fact that Kuroo could even decently crush on someone, but Hanamaki decided that nobody should be judged upon his or her first impressions. It was quite common for partygoers like Kuroo to actually turn out to be innocent romantics, suffering from unrequited love. “That’s… depressing.”

 

The bells then chimed right at that moment, and the devil was summoned upon its calling – with a buddy.

 

_“TSUKKI!”_

_“TSUKKI, WE’RE HERE!”_

Kuroo and Bokuto barged into the vicinity, and the other customers stole irked glimpses their way. Tsukishima, at the cashier, flattened his eyes into impossibly thin lines and exhaled bitterly. “Please keep the volume down to tolerable levels, Kuroo-san, Bokuto-san.”

 

“Haha, sorry. Give us the usual- hey, Suga, Daichi!” Bokuto lit up like a star and skipped to their seats. “What, you guys having your sugary weekend here –“ Then his golden orbs clacked to Hanamaki, who rested awkwardly under the intense stare. “Hey, hey, hey! You’re the new guy, aren’t you? Uh… Makahana? Hakamaki? Hanakami?”

 

“Hanamaki.” He softly corrected, and Bokuto’s eyelids squeezed in frustration.

 

“Damn, I was almost there! Please say you don’t know who I am, or else I’m going to feel _so_ rude.”

 

“Bokuto-san.”

 

“ _God fucking damn it,_ don’t do that to me! Oh, and drop the –san, that’s so weird. I’ll call you… what’s your given name?”

 

“Takahiro.”

 

“Fantastic, I’m Bokuto Koutarou! I’ll call you Taka because that sounds epic, deal? Great- Tetsu, over here!”

 

Bokuto was like a whirlwind, Hanamaki noted, he was constantly blowing off with hype and excitement that it would be impossible for the average person to catch on. But he was more like a sunny whirlwind, if that made any sense – his idiotic grin was somehow infectious, as small dimples appeared close to his cheeks. The group suddenly doubled, the table for 3 now occupied and crammed with 5.

 

Kuroo and Bokuto were bickering about the entire time about the waiter, Tsukishima, with Bokuto whispering loud to go ask the guy out on an actual date. Kuroo complained and whined that it was a preposterous demand, looking constipated through the altercation. Hanamaki noticed that the bespectacled waiter was also sending glances over to their table every now and then, but there wasn’t the bite in his pale expression as before.

 

“I think,” Hanamaki interrupted the flow of their conspicuous exchange, with Bokuto in the middle of saying ‘baby steps, so first you suck his dick’ and Kuroo about to punch him squarely in the collar. “There’s a sliver of hope.”

 

Kuroo’s wide brown eyes grew, and Bokuto nudged him in the hip with a knowing sneer. “You really think so?” Hanamaki almost snorted as Kuroo’s voice cracked. “Hey, I knew you for less than 24 hours, my skepticism is justified.”

 

“You have a point, but you need to go to the optometrist if you don’t see that wild rectangle glasses spinning your way every literal two minutes.” Hanamaki pointedly said, and Kuroo seemed ready to burst into a red balloon of helium.

 

Just at that moment, someone gently disrupted their talk, setting a tray of drinks down at the table. Hanamaki lifted his chin upward, and his breath was stolen – perhaps the reason why his hometown lacked a share of handsome men was because all of them were concentrated _here._

 

The man wore the café’s uniform, which consisted of a prim white button down and black slacks, with an olive green apron. His hair was tousled, but not in Kuroo’s unruly fashion (no offense); his skin seemed to _reflect_ the environment, shining under the dim lighting, and his _eyes._ Holy shit, if Hanamaki was ever interested in gems and jewels, he sure was now, as this man’s emerald ocean orbs was the prettiest thing he’d ever seen.

 

He would’ve definitely drooled at the beauty if he hadn’t witnessed Bokuto’s jaw almost kissing the tiled floor upon seeing the man.

 

Kuroo was the first one to speak, “ _Akaashi,_ I _need_ to confess to your waiter.”

 

 _Akaashi,_ Hanamaki reiterated, as said male frowned. “Tsukishima isn’t mine, and you’ll be disturbing the other guests. Please be patient until his shift is over, Kuroo-san. I only came to deliver the coffee myself as I didn’t recognize some names from the usual crew.” His exquisite emerald traveled over to Hanamaki and fixated. “You must be Hanamaki-san. Tsukishima told me about your hair.”

 

“My hair?” Hanamaki croaked, “Why’s everyone so insistent about being a jerk with my hair?” Sure, brown-pink wasn’t a natural hair color, but his  _was_ natural.

 

“My apologies, that wasn’t my intention.” Placing Hanamaki’s coffee in front of him, Akaashi turned to Bokuto, whose jaw had snapped back. “And –“

 

“Bokuto Koutarou, 25, I like volleyball, awesome to meet you!” Bokuto blasted off with unquestioned answers, sputtering a little too fast for anyone to interpret his introduction. But Akaashi retained his placid appearance and nodded.

 

“My name is Akaashi Keiji. I like volleyball too, Bokuto-san.” Bokuto was wearing an ‘I’m-fine-if-I-die-now’ smile, as Akaashi spotted a few anxious customers in the corner. “Sorry, but I’ll have to leave now. It was a pleasure to meet all of you.” With that, he elegantly slipped towards the group of girls and resumed his work.

 

When he was definitely out of earshot, Kuroo poked Bokuto. “I _told_ you he was your type.”

 

“ _My_ type? That’s a huge understatement if I ever heard one. He’s fucking perfect Tetsu, how can I compare?”

 

Suga sighed dramatically, resting his head on Daichi’s shoulder. “Everyone’s so young and lovey-dovey, Dai, I feel like a grandparent.”

 

“Yeah? We’ll be together for that long, anyway.” Nuzzling his nose into Suga’s silky hair, Daichi kissed Suga’s forehead and chuckled. Hanamaki had not known this group for more than two days, but he could predict his future consumed with raging PDA.

 

And then his stupid brain whimsically crawled back to that bushy-browed man, with that deep, baritone voice and slanted eyelids.

 

_God, screw it._

* * *

Matsukawa Issei’s morning had been terrific, save for Kuroo gagging in the bathroom, but otherwise pleasant.

 

Now, he couldn’t imagine his day could get any worse than this. Stepping on lego would’ve been the preferred alternative, and that said a lot.

 

It had been rather mortifying to see a street rat when he went to retrieve a book that one of his students from the gym borrowed, but then he stumbled over the elevated pavement while crossing the road and scraped both his knees, his trousers streaked with blood. That was still moderately endurable until it began to rain around 4, while Matsukawa didn’t bring along an umbrella with him because he never checked weather forecasts, _and_ he forgot his keys.

 

Which caused him shivering beneath the barely existent roof outside 7-11, with the store out of umbrellas and raincoats. What the fuck, wasn’t it common sense to have a sufficient stock of umbrellas and raincoats when it was rainy season? It was partially his fault for not reading the forecast, but _still._ Convenience stores ceased to be convenient if they didn’t even have what their customers needed.

 

 _Not to mention my keys,_ he’d have to beg Nekomata-sensei to unlock his own door for him, and in turn, prepare a load of cat pictures. Which wasn’t problematic, just that Matsukawa didn’t feel like doing anything when he was _soaked._ His phone was out of battery, out of all the days of the year it could’ve been. Matsukawa vowed to never buy a Samsung ever again.

 

Tomorrow was a Sunday, which meant it wouldn’t affect his job during weekdays, but nobody could be too sure about how long a cold might last. If Matsukawa didn’t dip his chilled body in a steaming tub anytime soon, he could be sick for the whole week – far from ideal.

 

“Fuck my life,” He clucked his tongue, rubbing his hands on the bare skin of his arms.

 

“Whoa. Language, buddy.”

 

“Mind your own fucking –“ His fury dissipated as quickly as it aroused when he saw Hanamaki holding a blue umbrella over his head, smiling but obviously concerned. “Shit, I’m so sorry.”

 

Hanamaki shrugged it off, “Nah, I see that you’re justified in your ire. I was actually just about to buy some cup ramen and head back home – wanna share this?” He folded his umbrella, and Matsukawa thanked the heavens if the misfortune of his day was thoroughly planned out in detail for this specific occurrence.

 

“Yeah, if you don’t mind.”

 

“I’m the one that offered, why would I?” His pink hair was slightly damp and wet at its ends, from the droplets of rain that the umbrella didn’t manage to defend. Matsukawa subconsciously brought his hand up and brushed the water off, in which Hanamaki stiffened visibly – causing Matsukawa to retract his hand.

 

“Sorry, there were rain droplets in your hair.”

 

Hanamaki was slightly rattled as he replied, “It’s fine, it was just a little… you know, unexpected. I’ll um, get a few cups I want and be back soon, so… yeah.” He hurried to the racks where the instant noodles were displayed, and Matsukawa groaned silently, wanting to kick himself in the shin for that insensitive move. It was just out of courtesy and whatnot, but of course, some were more cautious over physical intimacy with practical strangers, so on and so forth –

 

“I’m back, and I paid. Did you need something?” Peering into Matsukawa, Hanamaki held up his plastic bag.

 

“No, I’m fine. Thanks.”

 

“Sure, let’s go then.”

 

During their journey back, Matsukawa was wary to maintain a few safe centimeters from Hanamaki, even if that meant his whole left shoulder was exposed to the fierce downpour of the storm. It rendered the usefulness of the umbrella in the first place, but Matsukawa supposed suffering a fever wouldn’t be as dreadful as Hanamaki feeling uncomfortable around him.

 

“Hey, you do realize that half of your body is saturated with rainwater, right?” Hanamaki sounded mildly worried, and also quite humored.

 

“Oh, yeah,” An embarrassed blush dotted Matsukawa’s paled skin, “I assumed you weren’t… you know, great with contact and stuff. It’s fine, it isn’t that cold.” That last sentence was false, but.

 

Hanamaki’s goofy expression went downright blank at that as if he just attended the hardest science lecture of his life. Then he exhaled, and nearly rammed himself into Matsukawa’s sides, with the taller man almost tripping over his feet.

 

“What –“

 

“You’re such a nice person, Mattsun, and I appreciate that you’re being considerate but I’d hate to see you get sick.” Their bodies were pressed against each other’s, and Matsukawa could literally feel his face go red. “I’m just surprised often when people touch me, it’s no big deal.” Hanamaki’s grin was unlike anything Matsukawa had seen – there were Kuroo’s nefarious ones, and Bokuto and Suga’s impossibly holy-sunshine ones, but Hanamaki’s accompanied his background smoothly, not too blinding but just beautifully perfect, wherever he was.

 

 _I don’t even remember crushing this hard since middle school,_ Matsukawa thought, as Hanamaki’s warmth heated his body.

 

“I’m so fucking screwed,” He mumbled to himself, and Hanamaki piped up.

 

“What?”

 

“Nothing.”

 

They reached the apartment, and Matsukawa asked Nekomata-sensei for the keys. Hanamaki sniggered at the fact that Matsukawa scraped his knees and was so forgetful, in which Matsukawa protested that he really wasn’t.

 

“Thanks for the umbrella, Makki.” Matsukawa thanked as Hanamaki got off on the second floor.

 

“Anytime, Mattsun.” And again, with that melting grin, the metal doors closed off and blocked the sight of Matsukawa’s angel.

 

_I praise the heavens for blessing me with this day._

* * *

 

“You’re pretty late,” Iwaizumi stated when Hanamaki came in, “Suga told me that you guys were eating together and gossiping at Salty Coffee.”

 

“That’s pretty accurate.” Tapping the umbrella on the floor a few times to dry it off, Hanamaki laughed. “Everyone’s great. Oh, and I met Matsukawa on the way back – he forgot his umbrella and was soaked to the boot and all; it was hilarious.”

 

“Oh, Issei forgets everything, although he argues otherwise.”

 

“I knew it.”

 

Iwaizumi scowled a little, sipped his tea, and then said, “You know he’s single, right?”

 

“ _Iwa.”_

“Sorry, sorry. I thought you could redeem yourself since you finally broke up with Takuya.” His attention on the TV, Iwaizumi threw in that name ever so naturally. Hanamaki almost froze up for a whole five seconds, until he forced himself out of the trance.

 

“I don’t plan on doing that anytime soon.” He answered quietly, as Iwaizumi hummed. Iwaizumi didn’t know about Takuya, but he was aware of one thing, and that was that Iwaizumi did not like Takuya. Hanamaki never understood why at the time, especially when all Iwaizumi did to explain himself was ‘I don’t like his voice, it’s disgusting’.

 

 _I wish I knew better._ Hanamaki regretted as he sighed into his shirt.

 

It smelled faintly of Matsukawa, and Hanamaki refused to admit that it smelled fucking nice. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Coming up next: 
> 
> -Yachi's emotional breakdown  
> -Oikawa's parental crisis


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hanamaki is not a morning person.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, I updated. What the hell. 
> 
> The first 3 chapters of this story are more of an introduction of sorts - just getting to know the characters and what they do, how the town's like, the vibe of the apartment, etc. Boring, I know, but helpful. I also realized that this fic sounds really angsty but it's a lot more fluff and humor than angst, tbh.

Hanamaki had his fair share of horrific mornings.

 

Take, for example, his high school graduation, where he for some reason dreamt of his very own graduation and woke up with the vivid experience and all, convinced that he was done for the better good and finally liberated from his academic career (college doesn’t matter, hush), only to be splashed with a bucket of ice from his mother screeching at him to get in the car, he had a graduation ceremony to attend.

 

He’s never quite had a baby howling within a 5-meter range yet, like the world is coming to an end but infinitely worse, and it’s all but funny.

 

Groggy, he flung a pillow over his head and tried to muffle the boisterous cry out, but his efforts were futile. Babies were the new monsters of this world; that had to be it.

 

Relenting, he crawled out of bed and shuffled to the living room, suppressing the urge to shout at Iwaizumi to ‘take his fucking baby outside, when did you even impregnate a girl, you motherfucking idiot’. All halts when he sees Oikawa propped on their couch, cooing at a young boy that’s bawling his guts out, with an Iwaizumi that’s making creepy ‘ooh’ and ‘ah’s, a toy T-rex in his hand. Hanamaki absorbed the view, processed it, and pinched the bridge of his nose.

 

“Iwa,” He grumbled, and all attention sans the toddler snapped to him. “I don’t have a clue on what the f-udge, is happening, but you’re not helping at all.” _No cussing in front of a baby, no cussing in front of a baby._ Iwaizumi returned a hopeless stare, and Hanamaki being the sympathetic, hospitable person he was, switched places with him, tossing the T-rex figurine to the sidelines.

 

“What’s his name?” He glanced at Oikawa, who was attempting to coax his son.

 

“Oikawa Akira.”

 

“Cool, that’s an epic name.” Akira was in the middle of choking on his snot and gurgling nonsense, and Hanamaki winced at the sight. “Hey, young man.” He poked Akira’s cheek, and that captured his attention – his pearly eyes were welled with tears, watery mucus flowing from his nostrils. “Having a bad day?”

 

With a really loud sniffle, the boy hiccupped, “Pa-pa. Leaving. Work. I- I don’t like it.”

 

“Yeah, that definitely sounds awful.” Hanamaki nodded gravely, in his sleepy understanding. “So your dad’s having you stay with Uncle Iwa, right?” Akira mumbled a ‘yeah’, and the pink-haired man smiled. “Uncle Iwa has this scary face, doesn’t he? I get where you’re coming from. He’s not all that monstrous, I promise – in fact, he’s really strong. Who knows, maybe you can ask him to build a fort for you.” He nudged Iwaizumi for some form of agreement, and his friend nodded rapidly.

 

“Y-yeah, sure. I’ll build you a fort- a blanket fort, we have tons of blankets to spare here.”

 

“There you have it.” Akira had ceased with all the sniffles and sobs, so that was a sign. “You can also bully him into buying you ice cream, you have my full permission to do so. As I said, he has a scary face and all, but in here,” He tapped at his heart, “He’s a real softie, so don’t let him fool you. But you seem like a smart kid, so I’m sure you know all this already, right?”

 

“Soft, like,” Scrunching his nose, Akira tilted his round head to the side. “Marshmallows?”

 

Hanamaki paused, and the stifled a laugh. “Yeah, spot-on. Marshmallows, that’s the perfect description that I was looking for. I like you, kid.” He ruffled Akira’s hair, who was now sporting an unprecedented grin with his chubby cheeks. “Now, I’m sure your dad doesn’t want to just drop you off here with Uncle Iwa either. He,” Squinting at Oikawa and recalling their drunken party night, he pursed his lips together pensively. “I don’t know him too well, but I’m sure he’s a wonderful dad, since you’re so cool and you’re his son. He’s working because he wants to make you happy, and because he loves you, yeah? He’ll be back in a zap before you even realize.”

 

Akira, albeit hesitant, nodded. “’kay. In a zap.” Then he twisted his plump lips in confusion. “How long is a zap?”

 

Oikawa interjected, his arms around his son. “A zap is around twelve hours, baby. You can count until twelve, right?” The boy hummed. “Great, you’re so bright. Uncle Makki is exactly correct, papa loves you, and because I love you, I need to work. Can you be strong for me, be a big boy and wait with Uncle Iwa?” With renewed determination in his glassy orbs, Akira nodded firmly. “Good boy, I love you so much.” Oikawa smooched his son on the cheek, and stood from the couch. Akira trotted off to the corner, retrieving the little dinosaur toy from the floor and fiddled with its legs on his own.

 

“Wow.” The hot man breathed, “Makki, you’re phenomenal. I have a newfound respect for you, and I’m not even joking right now. Seriously, do you secretly have ten kids?”

 

“That’d be overwhelming, even for me. But no, I’m just naturally skilled at handling kids. I worked in a daycare before, and… well, that’s how I found my passion for teaching and all, so yeah, that’s that.” He blushed a little – he wasn’t really accustomed to anyone complimenting his talent with kids.

 

Iwaizumi grunted to his right. “I literally cooed at him and he burst into tears. I have no idea what the fuck I’m doing wrong.”

 

“You sound like hyperventilating hippopotamus while doing it, that’s where the issue probably lies. Conversation is key regardless of the age, Iwaizumi.”

 

“Wow, fuck you.”

 

“You can fuck that fine man next to you, I’ll pass.” He smirked as Oikawa flushed into a deep, rosy red color at the comment, with Iwaizumi sputtering angry cusses but somehow not appearing as irate as his vulgar words. It was borderline hilarious, at how obvious all the inhabitants of Nekoma apartment were with their crushes – especially Oikawa and Kuroo. The only one he couldn’t quite decode was the man of 501 with the bushy eyebrows, the same man that smelled like fucking honey and baked toast, and that was _unjust_ – Hanamaki was in a one-sided relationship with bakeries, and Matsukawa had the scent of a marching bakery.

 

 _I’m in a non-dating phase,_ he reminded himself while brushing his teeth, cleansing out his morning breath, _I’m literally in a non-dating phase._ He glared at his reflection in the mirror, locks of his brown-pink hair sticking out as cowlicks, and his face relatively swollen from his interrupted hibernation. Oikawa still managed to look like the fucking prince of Olympus 8 in the morning, and Iwaizumi’s Jesus arms were as prominent as ever – and there was Hanamaki. Fuck everyone at Nekoma apartment, actually. He hated everyone.

 

“I’m gonna leave.” He announced as he finished changing into some trousers he picked up from the floor and his only T-shirt without questionable stains on it. “Take good care of Akira, don’t make him cry, and ask Oikawa out on a date while you’re at it.”

 

“Firstly, we’re not dating, we obviously have some enormous misunderstanding at play. Secondly, it’s freaking eight-thirty in the morning and I’m your only friend, where the hell do you need to be, and finally, are you legit abandoning me with this kid, you can’t do this to me, this isn’t fucking best friend behavior.”

 

Hanamaki scoffed, rolling his eyes. “Enormous misunderstanding, my- butt. Don’t curse in front of Akira, what the hell bro. I can be social, shut up. Plenty of people like me, it’s only a matter of time. And I think you’re going to thank me in the future, with all your experience with children, because obviously, you’re going to need it very soon when you get that future date with Oikawa. Anyway, have fun.” He locked the door before his friend ever got to complete that cuss, and sighed. Iwaizumi hadn’t missed the mark – it was eight-thirty, and he didn’t really have company. It was the weekend, which indicated that he was free from work, but that wasn’t alleviating his lonesome situation by much.

 

 _Be positive, Takahiro._ He assured mentally, _You could… fuck, I don’t know, what could you do? You said you’d be a social butterfly- okay, maybe the hurdle is too high. You can be a social caterpillar. Or a social pupa. Let’s go through each stage before we are a butterfly, yeah? Caterpillar it is. Social caterpillar, Hanamaki Takahiro, it’s nice to meet you –_

“Hey –“

 

“ _Social caterpillar,_ Hanamaki Takahiro, nice to meet you –“ He shrieked aloud, at the suddenness of the voice right beside him. _Fuck._ There was one very confuddled Matsukawa Issei there, with a plastic bag of porridge and green tea. He raised a thick eyebrow, and opened his mouth.

 

“Social caterpillar,” He repeated.

 

Hanamaki wanted to commit suicide. Dig a grave. Nobody needed to be at his funeral, he just wanted to die in peace. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

 

“I think you just greeted me with ‘social caterpillar, Hanamaki Takahiro, nice to meet you’. I mean, we already went through introductions and all, but that’s cool. My memory fails me nowadays, thanks for the reminder.” Matsukawa was grinning, his tone teasing. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, I’m the lazy baby koala, Matsukawa Issei.”

 

“ _Shut up,_ oh my god.” Hanamaki moaned, running his fingers through his shortly trimmed hair. “And baby koalas are fucking adorable, that comparison makes absolutely no sense.”

 

“You hurt me, Hanamaki.” Matsukawa feigned a gasp, slapping his chest gently with his empty hand. “I’m the epitome of ‘fucking adorable’, I have no trace of mind as of what you could be implying.”

 

“You’re a little shit.”

 

“Thanks.” A terse pause in between, the taller man scrutinized Hanamaki. “Going somewhere? It’s ass o’ clock in the morning.”

 

“ _Yeaahhh_ , about that,” A nervous laugh followed, “I actually just eluded the house because there’s Akira inside, and… dunno, I’m just a noob to this apartment and neighborhood, y’know? Thought I could explore. I’m an inquisitive individual, comes with my passion for education.”

 

Matsukawa chuckled, and boy, if Sugawara was honey and powdered sugar, Matsukawa was ground coffee beans and strong, black coffee – deep, mature, and _Hanamaki is in a non-dating phase._ “Cool, sounds like you have an adventure ahead. I could show you around, give you a tour of the neighborhood, if you’re willing to have a partner.”

 

“Really? That’d be ideal – I’m literally a fuck up when it comes to directions; I get lost every five minutes even with Google Maps. Like, how am _I_ supposed to know how long is 500 meters, you can’t expect me to bring a ruler around with me and measure the distance I’ve walked.”

 

“You’re neglecting one of the major functions of your eyes, which is to approximate distance. Ever learned about retinal disparity, convergence, all that crap? Binocular cues for vision, you know. I thought you were a teacher, you should know this.” Hanamaki shot him a playful glare, in which Matsukawa snickered. “I’ll just deliver this to Yachi’s room, and we can go. I’m on a mission, in case you couldn’t tell.”

 

 _Yachi, Yachi. I swear I know that name._ “You mean the resident of 401? Doesn’t she live with… uh… _no,_ don’t you dare open that filthy mouth, I got this, I remember her! Ki… Kiyoko-san. Right. Yeah. Are they roommates?” They headed towards the elevator, in which Hanamaki jabbed his finger at the button.

 

“Nah, you and Iwaizumi are the only platonic roommates of this apartment. They’re girlfriends – Kiyoko works at a bank, and Yachi is a novelist. She’s also a web-designer, but that’s more of her part-time thing. Have you heard of _Letters Under Chamomile Tea_?” They took a step into the bulky elevator.

 

“Oh, that bestseller book, right? The author’s debut novel – they’re creating a movie adaptation for it too, I think? Featuring Komatsu Nana and- _holy shit,_ the author was Yachi Hitoka. Wow, what the hell, that’s so fucking amazing!” Hanamaki was always an avid reader, although he had awful penmanship and pitiful motivation to even write a single sentence. Personally, he favored mystery and science fiction genres over romance, hence why he hadn’t really cared about the bestselling romance novel of the month – but hell, he was totally going to, now.

 

“I actually got her autograph – she’s a cute little chick. Not ‘chick’, but she’s like a literal, yellow fluffy chick. Ah, but… well, it’s three days before her deadline, so she might be antsy right now. Not the best time for you to meet her, but hey, wise men proclaim that when you experience the rotten bit first, everything tastes heavenly.” _Ding!_ The doors slid open, and they were at the entrance of 402. Matsukawa pressed the doorbell – once, twice, thrice – until the brass knob twisted.

 

It was honestly like a scene out of a horror film, like _The Ring,_ just that Sadako was now blond and petite. The girl’s ponytail (or at least Hanamaki presumed that it was a ponytail initially) was tangled, her bangs flipped upside down. Her pupils appeared gray with death, and there were dark shades that reached her chin – and she kind of reeked of old paper and Red Bull, the stench tickling Hanamaki’s nostrils. _Intense._

Unperturbed, Matsukawa handed the plastic bag over to her. “Here’s what you requested for – my mission is now accomplished.”

 

A curve of the lips that resembled a smile (more like a languid wobble) formed, as she croaked, “Thank you, Matsukawa-san. I’d ask Shimizu-chan, but she received an emergency call from the bank today – they screwed up the records, I think.” The hollow eyes traveled over to Hanamaki, and he had to muster his courage to extend a polite hand. She stopped to gaze upon it, and then agonizingly wrapped her palm around his – her skin was dry but fingers drenched in cold sweat. “Hi, I’m guessing you’re Hanamaki-san? Kuroo-san came over yesterday and told me about you. I’m so sorry I couldn’t visit you earlier, I have my deadline in three days and I have like, fifty pages to write, and the dialogue- my _gosh,_ the dialogue is so choppy, the characters are so impersonal and- I don’t even know _how_ I survived my previous book, it doesn’t make any –“

 

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Hanamaki brushed his hand over her shoulder, where she was gasping for breath after her mild panic attack mid-sentence. “I don’t really know the writer’s world and all, but I’m sure you’re doing fantastic. _Letters Under Chamomile Tea,_ right? It was on the bestseller shelf since January, and it’s July now, so that’s a feat, you know? I respect you.”

 

Yachi blushed furiously, waving her hand in shame. “That was totally coincidental, it was nothing! A beginner’s luck, or whatever they call it – people are too generous with their praise, is all. There were so many points where the story was rushed, with unnecessary imagery and details, and –“

 

“Okay, Yachi.” Matsukawa quietly interrupted her bumbling ramble, “I don’t get it, but it was popular, people liked it, and that’s what truly matters. I’m sure this one will be a massive hit, too. But before you go back, you should probably eat your breakfast.”

 

“Oh, yes, you’re right,” Scrambling for the plastic bag, she peeked at the contents and beamed. “I appreciate the support! I- I hope it sells well, too. Are you two out on a date?”

 

Hanamaki choked on his spit at the clueless inquiry. Heat prickled at his skin, as he managed a, “ _No,_ what- _no,_ we’re not like that!”

 

“Oh- _oh,_ I’m so sorry! Practically everyone in this apartment complex isn’t straight, so I just- oh my god, that was so rude of me! I’ve never really seen Matsukawa-san with someone else on a morning, and so I- _oh my god,_ I’m so sorry!” Yachi bowed repeatedly, squeaking as her voice cracked. Matsukawa didn’t seem as flustered as he was, for whatever _fucking reason,_ and just sported an amused grin on his smug face.

 

 _I mean, I’m not straight either, but,_ “We… we’re not dating, I just moved here like a week ago and there was no time for… you know, that kind of progression. I just asked him if he could provide a tour around the neighborhood for me, since I’m new to this area and all.”

 

“Of course, I’m sure that was it! I’m so sorry if I offended you, that was so not my intention, I just –“

 

“It’s fine, Yachi-san.” Hanamaki strained a smile, the tips of his ears still hot and fuming. “I suppose I’ll see you around?”

 

She returned a subdued nod. “Yes, of course! We’ll invite you for dinner sometime, Hanamaki-san! Shimizu cooks like home, she has a motherly touch.”

 

“Sounds lovely. I’ll be anticipating an invitation, then.”

 

They exchanged curt farewells, and Yachi finally locked the door minutes later. Hanamaki heaved a sigh, sweeping his chest down with one hand, sensing his pulse. Matsukawa silently walked alongside him, down and out of the apartment, until they halted at the crossroad to Salty Coffee.

 

“Do you not want to be judged as a couple with me?”

 

Hanamaki never sputtered this much in the morning. “ _What?”_

“No, just out of curiosity.” Matsukawa remained expressionless, but entertainment laced his thick eyebrows. “Your reaction was… _grand_ , back there. I think we’ve established that you’re not straight at this point, so I was just wondering. No ulterior motive, I promise.”

 

“Well, I mean- no, I don’t _mind,_ per se, I’m just in this single-phase and it’s just me, really- you’re abundant in your attractiveness, I’m sure you had your number of straight-transformed-gay admirers, and I’d be honored to have a boyfriend like- _fuck,_ I have no idea what I’m saying right now, sorry, I’m not a morning person.” Hanamaki was such a major dumbfuck. He was a major dumbfuck that said dumb things, that’s how it was.

 

“Abundant in attractiveness.”

 

“No.”

 

“Straight-transformed-gay admirers?”

 

“Ignore that.”

 

“Social caterpillar.”

 

“That was fucking thirty minutes ago- I’m _not_ a morning person- wait, I just said that.”

 

“You did.” Matsukawa was clearly suppressing his laughter, and Hanamaki elbowed him in the stomach, cussing under his breath. They bickered as the light flicked green, all the way to Salty Coffee. Tsukishima was absent from his usual post where he had roasted Hanamaki with proficient sass, but the exquisite manager with pretty hands was there, tending to the plates in the sink. “Hey, Akaashi, we’ll order.” Akaashi snapped up, and his placid, bland face somehow soothed Hanamaki’s nerves. “I’ll get the Peru special – you?”

 

“Black, ice, large.”

 

“That.” Matsukawa rummaged his pockets for his wallet, in which the teacher beat him to slamming down a wad of cash on the counter.

 

“I’m paying. Too bad.”

 

His bushy brows elevating to his forehead, Matsukawa remarked, “I have money, contrary to common belief.”

 

“No, you idiot,” Hanamaki sniggered, “You’re giving me a tour around town, so it’s my token of thanks. My mother had taught me strictly, ‘you have to compensate and reward, be merciful and gracious to your community’. It’s only right that I pay for what I receive –“

 

_(“It’s only right that you get what you deserve, Takahiro, you deserve this, it’s your karma –“)_

His blood chilled at the memory. His jaw hung in the air, as he froze up completely, his fingers unconsciously tracing his wrists. The crumpled cash under his hand and the polished wood of the counter felt like ice on the surface of his skin, and his mind blinked with white noise, his world spinning madly on its axis. _Don’t,_ he grapples for sanity, for serenity, _don’t think about him. Don’t think about him._

 

“Hanamaki?” Matsukawa’s blasé expression faltered, “You alright?” Akaashi was standing patiently, making no attempts to wriggle the cash out of the other man’s grasp. “Do I need to pay after all? Did you remember that you have zero money in your bank account?”

 

He forced a chortle for that stressed humor. “Nah, I’m good. I lag a bit in mornings, it’s nothing out of the ordinary. Here you go,” Pushing the bills over, he cumbersomely explained himself. “Anyway, about the tour. What’s the plan?”

 

They slipped over to the corner of the café, near a line of chairs for awaiting customers. “This isn’t a bustling town, actually – not a ton of tourist attractions, if that’s what you’re looking forward to. There’s a park just three blocks from here, and a private high school that has the exterior of Hogwarts. Apart from that, they also have an art center – they have monthly exhibitions. Pretty intriguing artists, to be honest – I always go.”

 

“Sounds hot, I guess we can go some other day.”

 

Matsukawa quirked a smile. “Sounds like a date, if you ask me.”

 

“You’re never going to release me from my suffering, are you?”

 

“Unfortunately, no. Your reactions are too delicious.”

 

“You’re Satan.”

 

“Don’t be disrespectful to Satan, I’m sure he’s exhausted from dealing with dead people all the time too.”

 

Their conversation fell into a loosely regulated rhythm, as Akaashi passed on two cups of coffee to them. Matsukawa began with the park, which was occupied with elderly grandparents on a morning stroll, some children screaming in the miniature playground and fields of grass. There was nothing special or unique about the architecture or design; it was really just a park, one you’d find in any typical Japanese town. The private high school was slightly more interesting, with a traditional European-esque building trapped in intricate gates, but Hanamaki had graduated ages ago, and therefore school was the least of his concerns.

 

He didn’t expect this sort of outcome, really. Hanamaki had minor troubles throughout the course of his life when it came to socializing; his personality was hardly categorized as difficult or peculiar. Simultaneously, however, he had never conversed this much with a person he met a week ago – he liked baby steps, increasing his circle of security as time passed naturally. Matsukawa just… clicked, with him, and it was mesmerizing how they shared a similar sense of humor, associated hobbies, etc.

 

_(Just like Takuya.)_

_Right._ He dully notes, _just like Takuya._

“How’s the prep school, by the way? Doable? I can’t handle brats, and I was literally a brat once.” Matsukawa questioned after their lunch, which consisted of cheese-filled hamburgs and tonkatsu. It was apparently Matsukawa’s favorite diner, located in a cramped alley of town.

 

“Oh, they’re nice kids. There’s just this girl, has an attitude. You know, the ones in those cliques – caked with makeup, really bloody red lipstick, shortened skirts, and cheaply dyed hair. I bet that her mother’s basically put her there, it’s pretty damn obvious. It’s aggravating, but nothing I’m not used to.”

 

Matsukawa clucked his tongue. “That’s what I mean. Can’t deal with that kind of shit.”

 

“I feel like you wouldn’t have been exactly prim and proper when you were young either, demure and shit.”

 

“I’m being attacked, this is treason.” Matsukawa joked along, “I actually graduated high school with Oikawa, Kuroo, and Bokuto.”

 

“Wow.”

 

“Yeah, I know. I’ve been friends with Oikawa since middle school, but Kuroo and Bokuto joined us in high school – we were in Miyagi together, Bokuto transferred from Tokyo mid-semester, and Kuroo’s parents were assigned to a new post in their company. They’re an eccentric bunch to befriend, I’m sure you understand. They make horrible decisions, and I’m somehow amidst that tornado of conflict.”

 

Hanamaki giggled as they walked back to the apartment. “And how did that one night stand with Kuroo occur?”

 

“Oh, that.” Rueful, Matsukawa grumbled, “All three of them were very active in their sex routines, you see. Oikawa stopped the cycle after Akira happened, but that’s him. Let’s just say that we were all very drunk, alcohol convinces you suddenly that your best friend is hella hot and fuckable, and that’s where shit goes down. Kuroo and I haven’t mentioned a thing about that night until this day.”

 

“You guys are fucking impossible.” Hanamaki snorted, as they arrived at the apartment. “Thanks for the tour today. You were right – this town is quite lame.”

 

“Told you.” Matsukawa shoved his hands into his pockets. “Have fun with Iwaizumi and Akira.”

 

“Don’t remind me of that. I’m going to take a nap.”

 

“Whatever floats your boat, I s’pose.” Then, “I’ll be waiting for that art center date, Hanamaki.”

 

 _This mAN,_ “It is _not_ a date.”

 

“Sure, okay.”

 

“No, it’s nOT SURE, OKAY.”

 

“Sure, okay.”

 

Hanamaki Takahiro is in a non-dating phase.

 

Seriously.

**Author's Note:**

> And that's it. I'm not sure when the next update will be, but when the next chapter is posted that's when!
> 
> Feedback is much appreciated, but other than that, have a nice rest of your day!


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